My dad had taken all my grandma’s and my mom’s money, even our shares, and made us beg for everything. And he was now letting my grandma rot in that hellhole.
I also never forgave him for all the other shit he pulled.
He cheated on my mom while she sat in jail, dying of cancer. Turned on her the second it became convenient. Accusedher of murder. Planned his escape. Lined up excuses in case she was convicted. So he could walk away from us too.
And now he lived here. His dream life. With an angelic wife who went along and somehow managed to be more of a mother to his kids than he’d ever been a father.
For years after my mom died, sleep was impossible. I woke up gasping, images of my dad killing Zach burning behind my eyes. Some days, the thought followed me long after the nightmares faded. Felt more real when I was awake than it ever did in my sleep.
I moved out the moment I turned eighteen and tried to take care of my grandma as best as I could.
But even if hate twisted my stomach, I never let it show.
For my grandma. For the kids.
Even for Amanda too. None of this was her fault. Like my mom, she was powerless against this man. And when my mom needed her most, Amanda was there for her. For us. She never treated us as less than her own two kids. Sometimes, it even felt like she loved us more because we reminded her of my mom. And her biggest shame.
So, like always, I took a slow breath in. Another out. Long enough to steady myself. Long enough to make sure I didn’t walk inside ready for a fight.
I got out, walked around to the passenger side, and opened Grandma’s door.
“Let’s get inside, birthday girl.” I unbuckled her and lifted her into the wheelchair I’d pulled from the trunk. Her hands lay still in her lap as I tucked the blanket around her.
Then I closed the car door and pushed her toward the back entrance.
The designer kitchen waited on the other side of the back door.
And we went inside.
Chapter 38
Dylan
“Happy birthday to you,” we all sang together, voices overlapping and out of tune.
“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Grandma, happy birthday to youuuuuuuuuuu!”
Claps and cheers filled the dining room as we stood crowded around my grandma’s wheelchair.
“On three,” someone said.
“One. Two. Three,” we all said at once and blew out the candles for her. Applause followed. Louder this time.
You could tell Grandma was happy. Not by words or movements but by the slight lift of her left hand. And by the way one side of her mouth pulled upward into an uneven smile while the other stayed still. Frozen. Caught where the stroke had left it.
Amanda carefully sliced the cake. She barely looked like herself anymore. The overdone lip fillers. The facelift my dad insisted on right after Markus was born. Even the way she dressed sexy now didn’t belong to her. And all of it was for my dad. He demanded it from her, constantly dangling the threat of cheating or leaving for a younger woman.
I pushed Grandma closer to the table.
“Grandma, I drew this for you—it’s us!” Elizabeth said, holding up a drawing that looked exactly like something a five-year-old would make. She wore a pink dress that already had a chocolate stain on it, although it was brand-new. Her blond hair was pulled into an uneven braid.
“Blink twice if you like it!” she said, rocking on her heels.
Grandma blinked twice. Fast. Deliberate. Her eyes stayed on Elizabeth the whole time.
“Yay! I’ll add a unicorn!” Elizabeth thundered down the hallway into her room.
Markus, my little brother, barely three now, clung to Lila like peanut butter to jelly. His arms were wrapped tight around her as he demanded cake. Lila didn’t hesitate. She scooped some onto a plate and handed it to him. She wore an oversized sweater, sleeves pushed up, hair pulled back in a lazy bun. She was close to graduating high school and wanted to take a year off before college to travel in Europe. Just like my grandma’s dream before she had my mom. And maybe my mom’s too, before she had me. Lila would live that dream for both of them.
